Rising to the Challenge
by Doxx
Summary: rather long fill for a Kink meme prompt, Rogue!warden and zevran one-upmanship. generally sneakyness. m/m.


**prompt : Zev and rogue!Warden (gender and origin are completely irrelevant) get into a subtle argument about who is better at the trade. They then enter into a contest of one-upsmanship, stealing from the companions, engaging in ever more dangerous tests of stealth and precision.**

Then the Warden decides to settle the contest with "creative applications" of the stealth skill.  


Zevran was honestly taken aback, when he first saw Mallin Cousland slide his hand into the coin pouch of the hapless hired thug browsing the dwarven weaponry in the hustling Denerim marketplace. Mallin was supposed to be a nobleman, and a grey warden, and such simple thievery seemed out of character. The Antivan assassin said nothing, but with growing fascination watched as the deft hands worked first a silver, then a gold piece free from the leather pouch. Mallin then jostled his way to the front of the crowd, and proceeded to buy a dagger from the stall, using the stolen coins to pay.  
Zevran would have applauded, the sheer audacity both shocking and delighting him. He sidled up to Mallin as he started to walk away, and fell into step with him, eyeing the silver sheen of the dagger. It looked more ornamental than functional, the silver etching would soon be worn away with regular use, and the hilt did not seem study enough to survive a blow from an attacking longsword.  
"A fine weapon you have there, it looks light enough that I would imagine it almost quicker than the eye could see. *Almost.*"  
Neither Mallin's step or face faltered, instead he offered the dagger hilt to Zevran. Zevran took it, and made a show of admiring the edge, and the weighting of the blade.  
"Do you approve?" he asked, carefully. Zevran glanced up, but Mallin's smile was smooth, relaxed and his manner at ease. The elf made to hand the dagger back, his own smile creeping wider.  
"I must say that I do, though I will admit to being surprised at the sharpness of the blade. It did not seem that it would have such an edge."  
"Ah, well, perhaps the best blades are the ones which do not seem so dangerous. It is harder to guard against the unexpected, after all. Keep the dagger, I believe it would serve as an apt reminder that things are not always what they seem."  
Zevran looked at Mallin, uncertain. The dagger was indeed stronger than it had originally appeared, and he had seen its worth paid over to the loud dwarven stall owner. When Mallin walked on, already treating the matter as settled, he gave the dagger and the grey warden an apprising look, seeing them both in a different light.

-

"So. May we speak frankly?"  
They had retired to a room in one of the backstreet inns. The wine was weak, and the rooms rather cramped, but it was better than struggling to pitch tents upon rocks and mud, or having to establish patrols through the cold hours of night. Zevran had knocked, softly upon the warden's door, wishing to talk openly without having to dance around allegory and metaphor. Not that he minded such games, and the Cousland nobleman was indeed a skilled partner, but he had questions he would liked straight answers to. As well as the opportunity to give back the dagger. He could not fathom what Mallin intended in giving him such a item, and the idea of owing the grey warden an unspecified debt sat uneasy with him.  
"I suppose so. You brought the dagger...? I do hope you intend only to speak, rather than try to assassinate me... It is a bit late for that sort of thing." Mallin had a bottle of wine on the bedside table, and was sat on the bed leaning with his back against the wall, reading through a book he had found on dragon cults. Gesturing that Zevran should take a seat or make himself comfortable, he took a swig from the bottle before offering it to the elf. Zevran decided to remain standing, but did accept the wine, if only to reassure Mallin that he was not intended a further attempt upon his life.  
"I brought the dagger with a wish to return it. I already have a perfectly functional weapon, and though it is a nice gesture it is not... necessary."  
"I will not accept." Mallin gave Zevran a stern look, then cast his eyes back to the pages before him. Zevran placed the bottle back on the table with a thud, and Mallin looked up, curious what might have provoked such a reaction.  
"I do not mind that you stole the coin to purchase it, in fact I would offer praise at such skill that you have managed to keep hidden from me for so long. But I already owe you my life, and am in your service. Do not seek to buy my loyalty."  
Mallin put a scrap of parchment in the book to mark his place, then set the tomb aside. His lips tightened and his normally calm and clear green eyes clouded with what looked almost like guilt.  
"I did not mean for you to feel that I was trying to 'buy' you. That was careless of me, I apologise. The dagger reminded me of yourself, so it seemed right you should have it. True, it is a weapon, and dangerous. But also rather handsome, and sharp in more ways than one. So keep it, or I will be forced to seek out something else to steal to show my appreciation for you not silting my throat in the night."  
Zevran refused to let the stark amazement show on his face, but he struggled to find a reply that would not betray him. A change of topic was needed, that he might claim back some semblance of thought.  
"How did a noble learn such sneaky skills anyway?"  
"Ah. Not easily. I was belted frequently throughout my youth until I learnt how to avoid getting caught. Growing up as part of the prestigious Couslands, it was expected I would attend the most tedious meetings and consults and other such drudgery. Managing to sneak keys and coins from the pockets of the high up and haughty served to stave off boredom, and picking locks stopped the repercussions for my actions having any real deterrent effect. My father eventually gave up sending me to my room when he happened upon the stashes I had 'procured', when he found that locked doors were not too much of a problem for me. He turned a blind eye, figuring that I might grow out of such antics." the humour had returned to the grey warden's voice, and his eyes shone as he recounted his past. Zevran saw the flicker of grief at the mention of his father, but decided that now was not the time to draw out an explanation.  
"Apparently not." he said, reaching and taking another drink of the wine, grimacing at the almost sour taste. "But it strikes me as strange that you would suffer such a poor brew, when you could easily steal something better..."  
"Is that a challenge...?" Mallin's face brightened, and he gave a small grateful smile to Zevran for not prying into his family's past, not when their bloody deaths still preyed upon his mind.  
"If you like. Though I will demand that I am permitted to sample your ill-gotten gains."  
Mallin stood, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Gracefully he strode towards the door, his boots abandoned. He turned, and pointed a finger at the dagger, Zevran's hand still wrapped around the hilt.  
"Very well. And should I succeed, which-I-will, you will keep the dagger without further complaint. As well as accepting anything else I decide to give you. Agreed?"  
Zevran laughed, and nodded, and Mallin Cousland was gone, on silent feet.

-

There was a fine layer of promising dust on the dark glass of the bottle Mallin produced upon his return, two glasses in his other hand. Zevran had to use the fine tip of the dagger to work the cork from neck of the bottle, and the smell of rich red wine filled the room. Wafting the bottle under his nose appreciatively, Zevran poured the wine with a flourish, catching himself as he tried to show off his own skills, his ego suffering that he had not spotted the devious side to the grey warden before now. He had been lucky to had seen it at all. Mallin had an easy, smooth manner, a near perfect mask to hide his talents in pilfering. He carried himself with just the right amount of confidence to allay any mistrust, but smiled often to put people at ease.  
Now that he knew, a lot of things suddenly made sense, such as Jowan's mysterious escape from a locked cell at Redcliffe, or the chests that suddenly sprung open when Mallin 'examined' them. The fact that he could easily elude the claw traps that hindered Alistair or Sten, as well as seeming to have a near endless supply of coin to purchase supplies and gifts for his companions. It was an impressive feat to keep his underhanded ways so well concealed, but necessary, as Zevran suspected that the righteous Alistair or morally immaculate Wynne might not understand the practicalities of the rogue.  
He tipped his glass to his fellow, and gave a pleased smile on finding the wine remarkably pleasant. Swirling his glass in contemplation, Mallin met Zevran's eyes.  
"It satisfies your standards?" he asked, taking a sip and licking his lips as he savoured the heady liquid.  
"It does. You have excellent taste."  
Mallin raised a brow as Zevran gave a courteous nod, verging on being a bow, and then set the glass down.  
"I should leave, no doubt my presence in your room for such a length of time will have tongues wagging. I thank you, for the wine, and of course for the dagger."  
The grey warden's wrist paused, the glass stilled in his hand from where he had been rocking it softly.  
"I did bring two glasses, and wine is best enjoyed in company. Will you not tolerate my presence a little while more?"  
Zevran hesitated, in his experience, this is where he would drink and find the wine poisoned, or Mallin's intentions were to take advantage of him while inebriated. Not that he would exactly mind being subject to Mallin's attentions, but he was rather content with their current standing, something akin to what he imagined friendship to taste like. While he was bearing witness to a different side of Mallin, he was not confident that he could trust that Mallin would not become emotionally attached, or make demands of him he was not willing to indulge.  
Then he caught the hopefulness in Mallin's eyes, not lust nor malice, but a simple desire to have someone he could talk to. Someone he did not have to hide his secret from.  
"Very well." Zevran relented, taking a seat beside Mallin as the grey warden smiled warmly, and clinked their glasses together.

-

They finished the bottle without much problem, the luxury of a wine that was enjoyable on the tongue a pleasant change to the usual sharp, watery fair they had grown accustomed to while on the road. They spoke at length, laughing together as their glasses gradually drained.  
"The problem, is that ladies are such a damnable temptation." Mallin announced, causing Zevran to raise both a brow and the corner of his mouth in wry amusement.  
"I am sure I do not follow..." he said, his eyes flashing in anything but innocence. Mallin flushed, "I mean their jewelry! Their jewelry is a temptation."  
"Ohhh... I see." Zevran was only half surprised at the haste in which Mallin felt obligated to clarify. Through finding that their valiant leader was also a deft hand at pickpocketing, to being subtly referred to as handsome, Zevran had ceased to make assumptions on the grey warden. Mallin gave a quiet cough, and reached to refill his glass. Eyeing the last drips sadly fall, Mallin turned to Zevran, and though he swayed slightly, his voice was as clear and self assured as ever.  
"We appear to have reached the end of the bottle. Pity, for I am almost positive that you will no doubt have some wonderful stories concerning relieving the fairer sex of their.. *baubles*. Hmm... Oghren usually has a small hoard... I think it would be an ideal time to reduce his alcohol intake."  
"You plan to steal from Oghren?" Zevran's tone was wary, after he had seen Oghren nearly chop one of the mabari's legs off for spilling his ale one night while the great dog was running around the campfire.  
"I believe, Ser Assassin, that it is your turn to secure the drink... Unless you do not feel you are up to the task?"  
Refusing to be outdone by a sheltered nobleman, Zevran gave a mock sigh, and held a hand to his forehead. "If I must. But I fully expect you to come running to my rescue if Oghren does not appreciate our efforts to save him from himself."  
"Or you could not get caught?" Mallin suggested, grinning.  
The wine made his steps heavier than he would like, and he had to struggle to remember which of the rooms he could find the dwarf in. Luckily, Oghren's riotous snoring betrayed his location, as well as masking Zevran's slightly tipsy entry into the room. He found Oghren's possessions strewn about, but the collection of flasks, wineskins and a suspicious little bottle of something thick and unappetising were easy to spot, Oghren obviously having also been indulging that evening. The first bottle he tried was already empty, as was the second, but the third seemed to at least have something left within.  
Through the haze of wine, and the delicious sense of mischief, Zevran collected the bottle and stealthed back out, closing the door behind him. Oghren, his cacophony following Zevran's path back to Mallin's room, did not even stir.  
Zevran tossed the bottle to Mallin, who caught it against his chest and pulled the stopped from the skin. He drew back sharply as the pungent scent invaded his nostrils. Steading his courage, he drank from the skin, and found the contents to be sickly sweet and very strong. He passed it to Zevran, and at first had to persuade the assassin to drink the unidentifiable brew.  
The earlier wine had dulled their senses, common sense included, and soon they were merrily passing the wineskin back and forth, not seeming to notice the night darken around them. After deciding that ladies were indeed most stupid for dangling such pretty trinkets so loosely around her arms and necks, then that noblemen who wore swords upon their belt but could not use them were equally dim, the conversation became a series of boasts and tales of their past achievements. Zevran was amused to find that Mallin had once crept into his parents' bedroom in hopes of finding the matching daggers that had been confiscated, only to find his dear mother and father in the throes of passion. In reply, Zevran recalled the time he had been hired to kill a city councilor, only to find him in the act of taking advantage of two of the elven maids of the house. Zevran had managed to extract a great deal of 'silence money' from the flustered gentleman, before piecing his heart with a dagger. He had given the girls most of the money, and remember that they had thanked him for performing the deed.  
Mallin, swaying more than a little, pointed to the bottle of wine. His eyes seemed less merry, despite his wide lopsided grin.  
"While I might not have brought word of gratitude from a lovely pair of elven girls, I did get us a rather fine wine."  
Zevran shot him a glance, wondering what prompted the Cousland to redirect the conversation. It was tricky to unpick the causation, himself feeling warm and not entirely sure where his head was in relation to his body.  
"Well *I* braved the wrath of a drunken dwarf to claim forth my contribution..." he said, deciding that he would think on the matter later.  
"Ha, stealing from Oghren is hardly difficult, the dwarf is usually out so cold I sometimes have to check he hasn't died in his sleep."  
"If it poses no problem, then I think you should be the one to deliver the empty wineskin back, before morning. He'll assume he drank it himself, and be none the wiser."  
Mallin, lowering the skin from his lips, positively beamed at the idea.  
"I believe you have yourself a deal." he said, and held up the rapidly depleting wineskin.  
"To mischief and mayhem, and not getting caught." he proclaimed, and Zevran happily toasted the statement with him.

-

Through a pounding headache, Mallin returned the empty wineskin back to Oghren's room, throwing it back amongst the scattered bottles and clothes and weaponry. At the same time, he swore off drinking anything that the dwarf had touched every again, thinking that he would prefer Zevran's poison collection to whatever Oghren loosely deemed drinkable.  
Zevran was interested to note, also through a rather unpleasant nipping sensation behind his eyes, that as they left the innkeeper was talking with one of the waitresses about how one of the bottles he saved in the cellar for special occasions was missing, but that there had been a real gold piece left in its place, more than 10 times the bottle's worth.  
By lunchtime his night of drinking was still with him, and Mallin was in no mood to discover that Zevran had been right in his prediction about the gossip that would follow that evening they had spent together. After a very short couple of words with Wynne, and then Leliana, he managed to quell the various rumours, instead stating that he and Zevran had shared a very serious talk about the likelihood of the crows making an appearance. The fact that he seemed offended at the accusation that they had been doing anything other than discussing the threats that faced them all as a group brought about a sheepish apology to both of them from Wynne.  
This, prompted the next challenge.  
"She loves that book, you should find out what in particular draws her to those pages..." Zevran was referring to the Rose of Orlais, and his smile barely hid his mirth when Mallin had handed over the gift, unaware of the contents.  
"Stealing an old woman's book hardly seems like a worthwhile endeavour..." Mallin had no problem with Wynne, though her nagging could be trying at times. He gave Zevran an unsure glance as they walked, Alistair in front and Dog trotting alongside them.  
Zevran leaned in a little closer, his breath across Mallin's ear.  
"Very well. I happen to know the book. If you were to say, read a certain paragraph on page 130 or thereabouts, I am sure you would find it most *informative*. You could even underline it, I suppose, and thus not deprive the mage of her most favourite nighttime reading."  
Intrigued at what could possibly be causing Zevran to hold such a wicked glint in his eyes, and desperate to have something to distract him from the long, dull miles that stretched from Denerim to Haven, Mallin agreed. When he saw Zevran nearly burst a vessel trying not to giggle in response, he bit down upon his dread and told himself that it would at least provide something to toast over later.

-

Zevran had carefully arranged to be in plain sight all day, knowing that he would be targeted as the most likely culprit when Wynne discovered her defaced book. He assisted Alistair in cooking, much to the general approval of the camp, and then offered to sit with Leliana as she stood on watch. The night was quiet, the only break in the stillness was when Mallin approached the fire, looking a little unwell. He gave a brief nod to Leliana, and then told the pair that he planned to get an early night. Later, when Wynne erupted from her tent, waking everyone bar Oghren, she was politely informed that Zevran could be accounted for all day, while Zevran stood looking utterly perplexed at the various accusations Wynne threw at him.  
Mallin gave forward, face sour and voice dangerously low. "Hush. If Zevran says he didn't do... whatever it is you think he did, then I believe him. Perhaps you are going senile...?" he added the last comment, almost as an afterthought, and Wynne was left speechless.  
When the companions eventually dissipated, Mallin caught Zevran by the arm and hissed into the elf's pointed ear.  
"'Informative' you said... Zevran, there are things I do *not* need to know. Not about the debauched Orlaisians and not about Wynne's choice of reading material!"  
Zevran could only grin, and Mallin met it with a very suspicious smile of his own. Suddenly, Zevran felt very ill at ease having Mallin so close, and having such a grip upon his arm.  
"Your turn. Tie this into Sten's hair." he said, pressing a pastel pink ribbon into Zevran's hand, giving it a brief squeeze before it released. Before Zevran could react, or protest, Mallin had strode into his tent, but Zevran could swear he caught a chuckle on the air.

-

The next day, Sten sported the hair ornament, and when Alistair gave its presence away by laughing loudly at the sight of it, the quanri nearly ripped one of the pale plated braids from his head in an effort to remove it. Mallin watched with interest as Alistair suddenly became very aware of where Sten was at all times, the ex templar deciding that he would rather keep more than a sword's length between them at all times given the dark stare Sten had adopted when looking at the unfortunate grey warden.  
Zevran found Mallin later, sitting by the fire, using a small wood knife to flick bits of gore and darkspawn from the tread of his boots into the flames. The assassin took a seat near enough that they could speak without risk of being overheard, and laced his fingers together in front of his chest, resting his head upon them and glazing at Mallin curiously.  
"In case you were wondering, Sten apparently gets rather distracted when polishing his sword..." Zevran said quietly, having to compete with the crackle of the fire.  
"Again, there are things I do not need to know..." Mallin muttered, when Zevran slapped him playfully upon the back, his hand striking against the soft leathers with a satisfying smack. The competition between them was steadily growing heated, even their conversations turning into long drawn out battles where each would try to outdo the other in terms of wit and innuendo. It did tend to make Mallin think the worst of Zevran's statements, even on the odd occasion when there were innocent.  
"He was cleaning blood from that great soul-sword if his, the one you found him. Asala.. Aseal.. Something like that. Ah, but I cannot help but wonder what you thought I was talking about..."  
"With you, it is never too hard to guess."  
"I am offended. It can be very *hard*, my dear warden." Zevran ignored Mallin's groan at his double entendre and continued, "I think I shall have to have a set of Morrigan's undergarments in recompense."  
"That can be arranged..." Mallin said carefully. Zevran, perturbed that Mallin did not seem to think this challenge enough, crossed his arms.  
"Taken by daylight..." he added, and waited. Mallin smiled and nodded, once, then he seemed to remember something. Zevran craned his head to see what Mallin was fussing with, when he produced a small shiny object.  
"To tide you over under I can 'acquire' the other thing..." the grey warden explained, as Zevran unwrapped a bar of silver. His eyes widened, unable to stop himself from gaping at the gift. He was about to force it back into Mallin's hands when the grey warden held up finger warningly.  
"You have to accept, remember? Besides, I've... really enjoyed having you along. You know that don't you? More than just having a kindred spirit, and the sparring practices... By-the-way, I think we should agree not to kick during practice, I have a rather unsightly bruise or three after our last match, and I do suspect you might have the imprint of my boot in your backside if I have to explain to Wynne why I need quite so many healing potions again." Mallin grimaced, remembering Wynne's expression when he refused to let her see the dark patches on the inside of his thighs. Mallin then realised he had gotten off-track, and swallowed, his boot hanging limply from his hands as he addressed the assassin.  
"If you ignore the threats of bodily violence, what I am *trying* to say is thanks. Thanks for sticking around, thanks for not assassinating anyone. Thank you for being you, in short." he straightened then, and Zevran watched the mask slip back into place, Mallin's eyes darting back from the ground to meet his, a self-assured smile playing upon his lips.  
"Now, hopeless sentimentality over and done with, I should probably go and plan the heist. I'd really rather Morrigan did not incinerate me, after all."  
Mallin got up, boot and pocket knife in hand, and gave Zevran a brief, almost formal, nod. He then headed towards his tent, leaving Zevran sitting feeling all sorts of complicated.

-

"You cheated."  
Mallin raised a brow, sat in Zevran's tent and watching the elf look over the pair of small clothes. Zevran made an unattractive face as he pulled his hands away from the cloth, fingers slick with dog droll. He'd know the mabari's trademark anywhere, having had the beast nearly devour one of his boots.  
Mallin had prepared for such a statement however, and checked off the points on his fingers, only the very smallest hint of a smile present.  
"One, you asked for Morrigan's underwear. Two, you *have* Morrigan's underwear. Three, taken during daylight hours, as requested. Four, I am not going to get blamed for the theft. Dog might get a brief earful, but Morrigan has a soft spot for the mutt, I can tell. I would proclaim that as a rather successful effort, and highly sneaky, even if I do say so myself."  
"You will have to say it yourself, because I am unsatisfied. Using your dog to do your bidding is cheating."  
"Hmmm... really? I recall a story told to me by a certain assassin about a rather clever crow who had found a way to mix poison into the fur of cats, and then sent them after their intended target. Shortly upon stroking the cat, or was it a dog, I cannot quite remember, the target then promptly fell over, apparently suffering a bad reaction to the animal. It would seem that using a furry accomplice is completely acceptable."  
Both Zevran and Mallin knew that the story referred to a dog handler, and that Zevran himself had told the tale. The elf gave in, laughing and shaking his head, letting the soggy undergarments fall to the floor.  
"Very well, but the beast has done his duty and should not be used again..."  
"Agreed." Mallin's smile had broken loose, and ran wide across his face.  
"So... Dare I ask what task you might have for myself?"  
"Ahh, well. you will at least have the cover of night. I want Alistair's pillow. You know, the one singed at the corner when Morrigan took offence at him calling her a hag. To be taken from our dear ex templar while he sleeps."  
"Might I not simply seduce my way into his tent, and bring you the pillow when he is spent after a riotous bout of love-making?"  
They both laughed at the thought, Mallin shaking his head vigorously.  
"Oh please refrain yourself from breaking the poor sod. Do you not remember the lamppost licking incident?"  
Zevran grinned at the memory, Alistair having blushed so hard Wynne had decided that he had taken a fever, and after trying to unsuccessfully skirt round the issue several time Mallin had to relate what conversation had brought out such a reaction. Alistair had been mortified as Wynne gave a sagely nod, then proceeded to tell the rest of the camp, Mallin placing his face in his hands and giving Alistair permission to smite Wynne should he wish. Alistair however, was much too busy wishing the ground would swallow him up to even think of summoning such magic. It had become a great source of amusment for Oghren and Zevran especially, proving a wonderful retort whenever Alistair would press too heavily on issues such as the morality of assassins or drinking.  
Still chuckling, Zevran admitted that even though Alistair had slowly come to accept his flirtations and insidious comments, a direct proposition would probably either result in either them having to piece the elf back together after being holy smited clean out of his boots, or having to fetch Alistair back after he had run a mile... or eight.  
"Now that you mention it though, throughout all our games I have not had call to use that particular skill set. I am happy to include it in my repertoire... do you not consider the act of seduction to be at least somewhat 'sneaky'?" Zevran did not bother to hide his obvious interest in the answer, and he could almost feel Mallin's discomfort at the question, golden eyes piecing through the mask.  
"... I suppose... "  
"Because if we are truly trying to find who of us might be the best sneak, it would be worth considering seeing who excels in that. particular. area..." Zevran drew out every syllable, his Antivan accent flavouring the words in an exotic richness. He tipped his head to the side, eyes tilted up at the grey warden, allowing his glaze to drift over his body meaningfully. He had made no secret of his attraction to Mallin, but at every offer and suggestion Mallin had kindly but firmly denied him.  
Mallin took a small step back, then hid behind his constructed mask, so careful built to conceal both his criminal tenancies, and his own emotions. He held both his palms up at the assassin, dipping his head in a parody of defeat.  
"Then I shall have to concede that in areas of sweet talk and sheer seduction you will beat me hands down, every time."  
It was a hollow victory, but Zevran flashed a grateful smile, and gave a deep bow. "Master Arainai, at your service... should you ever wish it..." he'd dropped his voice to a husky whisper, watching as Mallin shifted his weight uncomfortably. Zevran longed to push past the mask, to see the true face of the man underneath, freed from noble ideals and restrictions. The idea of fraternising with an assassin would surely grate against what Mallin's had been taught all his life, and to lay with a male elf probably also featured upon the endless list of rules and regulations the noble class adhered to.  
Mallin, however, was not a noble, not at heart. Though he might hold his head high and walk with an air of confidence, he had time for everyone, and at no point had Zevran ever felt inferior when they spoke together. His skill in slight of hand and lock picking proved that, like the dagger, like the assassin, there was more to him than money and high blood. He did not care much for the way he was supposed to behave, yet there were points where he was clearly in conflict with himself.  
Zevran straightened, and tapped his lip thoughtfully, wondering how he might persuade Mallin to forsake the silly high class principals impressed upon him.  
Mallin stood, not awkward but will less ease than his usual stance. He enjoyed the game he had established with Zevran, felt it was helping him hone skills that had been only used when no-one was watching. The assassin did have a habit of making him nervous, and he was not sure how he could politely raise the issue with the elf without causing offence... and he was not entirely sure he wanted Zevran to stop.  
Zevran had unfortunately, the night where they had drank together, cut too close to the bone with his tale of the nobleman and the elven maids. It perfectly illustrated both Mallin's fears that Zevran would feel taken advantage of, as well as the notion of laying with an elf being frowned heavily upon within the noble circles. One did not sleep with elves, it was debasing, and wrong, and though Mallin held Zevran in the highest of regard (he suspected that Zevran would eventually win their competition, though he was determined to not to make it easy), those thoughts haunted his head when he though about Zevran's smooth skin, and the way his spine curled so gracefully when he moved.  
Mallin gave himself a mental shake, and started to let himself out from the tent. Zevran side stepped to let him pass, when he saw Mallin's bright eyes staring at him.  
"See you later Zevran. I should go organise the rabble into patrol groups... It'll give Sten one less thing to complain about. I'll make sure you are not distracted by a night watch. And neither will Alistair..." the competitive edge had returned to his voice, and his smile was bright and mischievous.  
"Then I shall busy myself with thinking up nefarious plots and diabolical schemes."  
Mallin laughed, "Glad to hear it." he left, and Zevran heard him bark out orders for the companions to gather round as he assigned watch shifts and patrol perimeters.  
Zevran smiled that Mallin assumed the plots were considering pillows, and not how one might seduce a certain nobleman...

-

Zevran had helped Oghren move some of the crates closer to the fire, so that they could keep a better eye on their supplies. The large wooden boxes were nicely positioned between the campfire and where Alistair had pitched his tent, through Zevran's design, so that he would be hidden from those on night watch. His own tent was nearby, and the door facing Alistair's tent, so that he could see the exact moment that Alistair put out his candle and settled down for the night.  
Zevran waited, until he felt that Alistair would be deep enough in sleep and crept out of his tent. He had decided not to dress all in black, figuring that if anyone was to see him, they might mistake him from a darkspawn should he not wear his normal light brown leathers.  
Crouching by the canvas, he found the rope ties laced through the door knotted from the other side. He slid his hand up under the door, and though he left he brutally exposed, he very carefully unworked the ties from touch alone. He undid the lacing, just enough to allow his to slip through without brushing against the heavy fabric of the tent.  
The floor of Alistair's tent was littered with pieces of armor, seemingly cast off as he undressed. Zevran had to test every step before he could place weight on it, knowing that the metal scarping would be loud enough to rouse the sleeping ex templar. There were blankets, and a loose tunic nearby, which Zevran wrapped into a loose bundle, and slowly, trying hard not to to let his excitement at such a daring deed quicken his breath or tremble through his hands, he placed the bundle on the side of Alistair's head. Then he took a small step back, and pulled a twig from where he'd placed it in his hair, digging it in just enough that Alistair should feel it into his far calf.  
He froze as Alistair murmured sleepily, then tossed his body away from the irritation, his head rocking onto the bundle and off of the prized pillow. Zevran had to tip himself close to the point of unbalancing to stretch and collect the pillow, the corner indeed blackened from a blast of flame, the feathers inside melted and clumped at the edge.  
He did not allow breath to fill his lungs beyond properly until he was back in his own tent, having reknotted the tent ties and slinked across the ground. He was mindful of Sten's presence as the qunari kept stern watch on the darkness, as if daring something to disturb the peace of the camp.  
Even though there was no-one else to see, he broke into a grin, and decided that really, he should not delay in producing the pillow for Mallin's approval.  
It was harder to sneak into Mallin's tent, the man having tied bundles of nails to the tent door to alert him should someone try to creep in uninvited. One hand holding the nails, so that they would not alert the grey warden, the other pulling the ropes loose from the door, Zevran gained entrance and tip toed inside.  
He sat down by Mallin's head, the pillow to one side, and watched as Mallin's closed eyes twitched occasionally. In sleep, he had no guard or mask, and the temptation to brush strands of red-brown hair from his face vied against Zevran's better judgement. He did however, reach and slide the dagger by the bedroll out of reach, just to be on the safe side, then gave a polite cough.  
Mallin did not awake quickly, first frowning into his sheets, then stirring as he became a aware of someone in his tent. A hand reached for the dagger, finding instead Zevran's own hand, and he jerked back taking to access the situation.

When Zevran smiled sweetly, and held up the pillow, he relaxed, letting his gathered breath whoosh from between his teeth. In the darkness, Zevran's silhouette seemed to shift in and out the shadows, and his eyes struggled to adjust.  
"Archdemon dreams do not seem so bad, I think that perhaps waking up to an assassin might just be more unsettling..."  
"Tsk warden, I brought you a pillow to lay your head upon, and you compare me to the monstrous head of the darkspawn?"  
"Actually, I said you were worse..." Mallin pushed himself up to sitting, his chest bare as the sheets slid from his body. He looked at the pillow, unable to keep up the pretense of being annoyed when Zevran had brought such a gift.  
"What do you plan to do with it exactly?" enquiring, Zevran could only just see Mallin's expression shift to something more friendly in the dim light of the tent.  
"I have not yet decided. I thought about putting thistleweed in it, or one of Oghren's socks, but that just seems juvenile. I might even be inclined to slip it back in the group's laundry... any thoughts on the matter?"  
Zevran tipped his head, then pulled his dagger from his belt.  
"We could cut some of the stitching along the edge, carefully so that it is only just held together. Then, when Alistair lays down with any force, the thread would snap apart and explode into a flurry of feathers."  
"That is rather tempting... Would you do the honours?"  
"Hmm, I would not think your dagger work up to such a delicate task..." teasing, knowing himself to be the more practiced of the two when it came to the nuances of working a daggerpoint, Zevran flashed a grin in the darkness, his teeth shining bright from the shadows.  
"Oh? Find and light the lamp and pass me that dagger, and we shall see." Mallin pulled himself forward, and as Zevran lit the oiled wick with a piece of flint, saw that Mallin was already slowly using the very tip of the dagger to slice through every few stitches running along the seem of the pillowcase.  
The earnestness that the grey warden would take to any challenge, began to form into a rather intriguing notion within the assassin's mind.  
He watched, genuinely impressed that Mallin's skill with lock picking tools could transfer over to the delicate task, mesmerised by the quick flicks of the dagger point. Soon, Mallin held the pillow up for inspection, and then careful laid it out of the way, so that it would not break apart before Alistair triggered it. He passed the dagger back to Zevran, the shine of the blade catching the stuttering lamplight.  
"While you made a fair job of the pillow case, I think I have a better feat for you... should you feel up to it."  
"What had you in mind?"  
"I shall secret, upon my person, an earring. Your assignment is to locate it and take it. I shall try to stop you of course, there is a matter of honour at stake. It should serve to prove which of us is the most deft, without driving the rest of your companions to distraction with our escalating antics. What say you, up to the challenge?"  
He nearly said no, Zevran could see the word start to form on his lips, but then he felt a hand find his in the darkness, and pump it once.  
"As you like. No limitations, bar having the mabari slobber over you until you relinquish?"  
"Hmm." Zevran quickly ran through the possibilities, and decided that Mallin was not likely to resort to knocking him over the back of the head, nor anything else so crude. this was the final test of skill and stealth after all. He gave a nod, already feeling the thrill start to build within him.  
This, he thought to himself as he let himself out of Mallin's tent, blowing out the lamplight as he did so, was going to be *interesting*.

-

Zevran was practiced in safeguarding himself, and started to make necessary changes to his day. He kept no routine, bathing at different times each day, swapping which shifts he was to stand guard at random with the others to flummox Mallin. In return Mallin stalked him, occasionally offering a friendly wave as he watched Zevran move about the camp.  
The next evening, as Alistair came out of his tent flailing feathers everywhere, Zevran turned a second too late to see Mallin pass behind him. As the ex templar tried hopelessly to sweep the feathers from his tent and hair, Mallin gave Zevran a warm smile, as if nothing at all was wrong with him being able to surprise the assassin like that.  
Whereas Zevran had worried that his proposal might have scared the grey warden off, it seemed to have had the opposite effect, Mallin much more willing to invade his personal space, brush against him 'accidentally', all with the aim of catching sight of where Zevran might have hidden the earring.  
Mallin could take a guess where the assassin might had placed the item, but as there was no set time limit, decided he would carefully rule out the other, less imitate places he could hide the trinket.  
Two nights later, Zevran heard a tiny jingling as the bells he had affixed to the hems of his tent reacted to someone trying to carefully crawl in. He heard a curse, and went back to sleep grinning.  
The next night, he heard the dry leaves he'd placed outside his tent crunch underfoot, and another curse.  
When he woke that morning, he'd found that some unscrupulous soul had run a dagger just about the hem of his tent, bypassing the bells, but then found that the assassin absent. Zevran had spent the night up one of the nearby trees, and though his back creaked as he moved, seeing Mallin's glower made the discomfort bearable.  
He was not on top form however, having to stay constantly vigilant was wearing, so when a hoard of darkspawn tore through the camp, he found himself set upon by two shrieks and failing to fend them both off. He felt claws clatter against his leather, and catch on the gap under his arm, digging deep. He managed to bring one down, but through blood lost fell down as Sten managed to dispatch the other.  
When he pushed his way to consciousness, he saw Wynne wagging a finger at Mallin.  
"Maker's breath, I don't know what you were doing, but if you want to help, you can go and fetch my bandages and stop harassing him!"  
Mallin had apparently taken the opportunity to open the front of his leathers, seeking the earring when Wynne had caught him. Zevran blinked as healing magic surrounded him, ruining his night vision but numbing the fiery pain in his side.  
"Nice try." he said quietly, as Mallin dutifully brought a wicker basket of Wynne's more mundane healing supplies. The grey warden made a show of snapping his fingers in disappointment, thought he was aware that he was running out of tricks to catch the wily assassin.  
On the road the next day, Zevran was interested to find his pocket empty. He had not even felt Mallin take the piece of paper that he had put there, but carefully stopped himself from smiling too conspicuously as Mallin read the words he'd written there;  
'You only had to ask if you wanted to get into my trousers...'  
Mallin turned and threw the balled up parchment at Zevran. It bounced harmlessly off his chest, and Zevran held up his hands, shrugging with feigned innocence. Mallin shook his head, equally impressed and frustrated at Zevran's cleverness.

-

They had stopped at the spoiled princess inn, before they would head on to Haven, and everyone seemed relieved for the break from hard travel. Zevran, chewing upon a deep mushroom to keep him alert, heard footsteps approach, and though he had secured the window shutters, quickly made sure they were closed as the heavy pace grew louder. It would have been a perfect distraction, and Zevran was curious to find the steps stopping outside his door. Deciding not to wait for the person to knock, he pulled the door suddenly, to see Oghren startle and stagger backwards.  
"Ah, elf! I.. Oh sod it, I want a word with you."  
Zevran looked up and down the corridor, but there was only Oghren, shuffling his feet nervously, already smelling like his soaked his beard in ale. Zevran gestured him in, and closed the door.  
"And what might I be able to do for you, my little friend?"  
"Look... you know women, right? I mean you're always boasting about it, and I figure you might have a better handle on the whole romancing thing than me... I... I got you this, and you can have it, if you'll tell me what to say to Felsi to make her stop hating me."  
Zevran recognised the bottle, it's golden liquid making his eyes widen.  
"Where did you get a bottle of Antivan brandy?" he asked, incredulous that Oghren would give up a bottle of anything, and also that he had happened upon the expensive brew by chance.  
"Bodahn had it... was going to drink it myself, but I figured you might like a taste of home, right? So... will you help? What do I say to Felsi to make her love me again?"  
Zevran plucked the bottle from Oghren's hands, carefully checking the wax seal around the top of the bottle, and setting it down gently beside the lamp that was providing the light to the room.  
"Felsi is the charming young lady downstairs? Yes... I heard your conversation with her." The elf leant back on the bed, wondering how best to help Oghren. From what Felsi screamed after the dwarf, it would be difficult to reconcile the two, but Zevran could appreciate a challenge.  
"I would apologise first. Tell her that she is right, in all things, and that you understand her anger at yourself..."  
"Apologise? Bah, I'm not doing that..."  
"You wanted my advice, and I would not be so hasty to reject the idea. You might also try to compliment her. Remark upon the colour of her eyes, the way she wears her hair... something like that."  
"Right, got you. Say she looks mighty fine..."  
Zevran held his composure and did not wince, though he felt that the subtleties of courtship might be lost on the dwarven berserker.  
"Try not to be so... blunt. Say something specific to her, something that you could not say to anyone else. Women like to feel special. Let her hear what she alone has that captivates you. Again, eyes are good. You could compare them to say, gemstones, or purest water... What colour are the lady in questions' eyes?"  
"How should i know?" Oghren snorted, crossing his arms. Zevran dug his fingernails into his palm to keep from laughing. He cocked his head, and took a breath, pressed onwards.  
"Ok... Ok... You know Oghren, if you care for the lady, why do you try to compose your own words. They will sound more sincere coming from yourself, than anything I could offer. I still strongly suggest you start with an apology though, she sounded a little ... irritated, and all it would take is a simple sorry to begin to smooth things..."  
Oghren looked uncertain, and swayed slightly, looking at Zevran and eyeing him suspiciously.  
"Well, it doesn't make a lot of sense to me, but I'll give it a try. Thanks elf."  
"Anytime..." Zevran replied, guiding Oghren to the door and sending him on his way. The dwarf successfully ejected, Zevran sat down on the bed and looked at the bottle. Using a fingernail, he scored the wax, casting it off to fall on the floor. The cork proved tricky, but with careful application of his dagger he soon had it out in one piece. Briefly, he thought about finding Mallin to share, but their ongoing competition made it seem like a less than sensible notion.  
He brought the bottle up, and smacked his lips as he lowered the bottle. He put it clumsily down on the table, and frowned, feeling a numbness spread across his lips. His eyes snapped to the window, open, and a pair of boots swinging in from the roof. Mallin landed silently, a wicked smile as he walked across the floor to where Zevran sat, frown darkening as he started to recognise the poison.  
"Don't worry, the paralysis is only temporary. I am sorry Zevran, but i figure this way you won't be able to stop me... and we did agree no limitations..."  
He caught Zevran as the assassin slumped, lowering him carefully onto the bed. His eyes open, Zevran could see Mallin's hesitation at the contact, but then his smile caught up with him and he slowly turned the assassin's head, first one way, then the other, running a finger up the side of each ear.  
"Not in the obvious place then..." he muttered, moving his hands downwards to feel around Zevran's neckline, and started to unlace the fastening of his tunic. He lifted it, sweeping his hand over each nipple, in case Zevran was pierced there. The smoothness of his skin, and the heat under his fingertips was not lost on the grey warden. Even though his body was still, he could feel Zevran's heart hammering within his chest. Dryness took Mallin's mouth, and he pulled the pale cream tunic from the elf, the soft fabric sliding easily over the sleek form, his arms yielding easily as Mallin pulled slim wrists through the sleeves.  
He tossed the tunic over his shoulder, and looked at Zevran's prone body. His own blood pounded in veins, as he bent over to brush a finger over Zevran's mouth.  
"Here perhaps..?" he asked, knowing that Zevran could not give any reply. He pressed their lips together, and swirled his tongue around the inside of Zevran's mouth, seeking the earring, and when he did not find it, drawing away, fighting his rising guilt at his actions.  
He had to lick his lips as he steadied his hands, hating that they seemed to shake of their own accord as he reached for the assassin's trousers.  
Zevran had nothing in either pocket, as Mallin's probing fingers found. His breath was loud now, rasping through a dry mouth. He tugged the leather, and seemed to heaver on apologising as he slowly slipped the tight trousers down Zevran's hips, pulling until they fell to the floor.  
"Now... where would the great Zevran Arainai stow the piece of jewelry his pride hinged upon...?" Mallin said, voice no louder than a whisper, as he drew Zevran's small clothes down and over his knees.  
He saw Zevran, exposed, and devoid of any glitter or gold. Taken aback, Mallin frowned, having been so sure... He shot Zevran a questioning glance, before turning his eyes to the discarded tunic. Thinking the assassin might have sewn an extra pocket into the garment, he turned and bent to pick it up.  
The light went out.

Mallin spun round, and in the starlight through the window saw the bed suddenly vacant. The room danced with shadows, plenty of places for the assassin to use to his advantage, and Mallin backed himself against the door.  
"How... how did you overcome the poison so fast?" he demanded, his voice rapid now he had been stripped of control.  
"I never drank, save to touch the stuff upon my lips to see what you had planned..." Zevran voice was amused, but impossible to track as the assassin circled. Mallin pulled his dagger from his belt, wondering if the assassin would take offence at his scheme.  
Zevran chuckled, the noise echoing through the room, "Mallin, I'd seen *someone* had raked through my poisons, I knew you were up to something. A commendable effort though, and resealing the bottle with wax, very through. Using Oghren to deliver the bottle, well, that was a masterful stroke. Even if I did hear you stifle a giggle at the dwarf's attempts at romance. I played along to see how far you would go... I have to say, you surprised me."  
Mallin felt the air shift to his side, but was too slow to catch the fingers that lightly stroked against his arm. Swallowing thickly, scanning desperately for where Zevran had cloaked himself in the shadows, a single fingernail ran down his opposite cheek, against coming out of nowhere and vanishing before Mallin to react. He knew Zevran was toying with him, perhaps getting his own back for the poison attempt. Finally he picked out a shape slipping in front of the table, turning his head just in time to see a silhouette dart forwards. He tried to fight off the attack, but his eyes could not follow the speed of the blows, and he felt the elf slam him against the door, breathing into his face, teeth bared wide in a predatory grin.  
"Bad luck warden... I guess I win?"  
Mallin wriggled, briefly, feeling the assassin's naked weight on him, then nodded. Zevran released him, taking a step back.  
"Now... do I get a reward perhaps?"  
Tension rattled through Mallin's body, as Zevran eyed him hungrily.  
"What would you claim as your prize...?" he whispered.  
"Well, your kiss was rather brief and functional... Let me show you how its done."  
A quick hand cupped the back of his head to stop it hitting against the door as Zevran pressed forwards abruptly, capturing the grey warden's lips with his own. Heat flooded through him as Zevran pushed his tongue into his mouth, twisting and tasting. Now that Zevran had initiated, all guilt faded, and Mallin placed a firm hand over Zevran's hip, pulling him closer as he started to move his own tongue, letting it slide across the elf's teeth and the soft wet flesh of the inside of his cheeks.  
This earned a soft groan from the elf, sucking to pull Mallin tongue deep into his mouth, grinding his chin forwards, throat tilted. The fingers at the back of his head curled, gathering his hair and holding him as Zevran guided Mallin to turn his head, breaking the kiss and ghosting his lips down the line of his jaw.  
The grey warden shivered, and Zevran pulled back, releasing his grip on Mallin's hair, eyes very serious as they took in the dilated pupils and way Mallin seemed to struggle to swallow.  
"You wish I should stop?"  
Mallin's eyes snapped to focus, and he finally managed to choke down the lump in his throat. "Don't you dare." he breathed, pushing from the wall to walk them backwards, step by step, mouths colliding together in passionate, urgent kisses. Mallin's leather overshirt was peeled off, and discarded, as was his rough cotton shirt. He did not even feel the draught of the window, the air between the men almost burning as they touched and tasted and teased one another.  
_The best at stealth_, thought Zevran, _and a *master* of seduction_, as the back of his legs bumped against the bed. Mallin caught himself from falling onto top Zevran holding off his weight on forearms strong from the repeated pulling of a bowstring. He felt like a bowstring, the tension building till he thought he might snap at any moment. Steading himself, Mallin allowed Zevran the space to scramble backwards, until he was on his back, the same position as when he had been laid out when Mallin thought him poisoned and paralysed.  
Knowing now that Zevran had permitted his roaming hands granted Mallin courage, and he began to rub against the assassin's tanned chest. He ran his hands over where toned muscle wrapped over bone, feeling every ridge and rise of the flesh beneath him. Zevran writhed, flexing as Cousland pressed his lips to the centre of his collarbone, nibbling at the skin. His tongue slid out to taste the sweat starting to bead as he dipped his body down, to rub against Zevran's naked form, himself still hindered by trousers and boots.  
A soft low moan, and he saw slender fingers unlace the bindings, Zevran trailing a finger down either side of his hips, his nails sparking sensation in their wake. In efforts to kick off his boots, he jerked against Zevran's already hard member. Zevran's hands did not lose their place, but his head stretched backwards, the length of his neck taunt as he loosened Mallin's trousers. The grey warden bent his head to rest against Zevran's neck, biting, licking, using his teeth and tip of his tongue to tantalise the assassin while he struggled out of his trousers, this time careful not to knock against the elf under him.  
Slowly, unsure, he lowered his hips down, and felt his manhood rub against Zevran's. It was like touching against a firebrand, the heat and sensitivity searing through his mind, pushing every other thought and fear away until there was only the moment, and Zevran.  
Bucking into the movement, slow, restrained, the elf watched as the mask finally slipped from Mallin, revealing the man. Raw and exposed, nothing to hide, he was beautiful. Zevran gave another heave, his hips arched clear of the mattress, their erections sliding together. Sensation tore up his spine and Mallin lost the power to his arms, sinking down onto the bed. Zevran slipped to the side, and Mallin only vaguely heard the sound of something clinking. Poison? No... oil.  
"Am I still dared not to stop? You know I cannot resist a challenge..." throaty, his voice straining to contain his excitement, Zevran drew himself back onto the bed, fluid like molten metal.  
Mallin nodded, pulling himself upright, almost breathless as Zevran stretched over to slick his dick with the oil, hands rubbing and caressing and tugging... He growled as Zevran gave a self satisfied smirk at his own experience, before offering the bottle and turning, face down on the bed. He raised his hips, resting on his knees, looking behind him to encourage the grey warden. Mallin needed no further prompt than the look of anticipation gleaming bright from within the Antivan's eyes, and he pressed a finger first, into Zevran, the soft wet noise stealing his breath.  
Tightness wrapped round his digit, and even with the oil Zevran could feel the intense friction burning within him. It was not unpleasant, but caused his breath to quicken, as he rocked backwards, burying Mallin's finger to the knuckle. He rotated his hand, making the elf squirm, then curled, fingertip pressing upon the nerve bundle, evoking a short desperate grunt.  
His hands found their place over Zevran's hips, cupping against the bone, and he massaged the tight entrance with his tip, before starting to press inside. Heat, and clenching muscles closed around him, and Zevran arched in response, his spine rippling under his skin, making the black lines of ink seem to dance.  
He delved deep, then withdrew almost completely out again, before pushing forward, building a slow pace, his length surrounded in sensation, his fingertips pressing pale points into the flesh of Zevran's hips. When Zevran began to push back, meeting every thrust with a soft smack, his own length stiffly wobbling between his legs, Mallin reached to encompass it within his hands. His thumb pressing hard against the root, his fingers sliding up and down, gaining speed as his control faltered.  
Grunting, indecipherable noises, and the creak of the bed filled the room with their metre, until a raw hoarse yell was dragged from Mallin, his hand tightening as he released deep inside the elf, the fire within him finally finding an outlet. Zevran shuddered, as he felt Mallin fill him, the grey warden's seed dribbling down his insides, across the nerve bundle and triggering his own spurt.  
Mallin rolled onto his back, his knees and arms shaking, muscles twitching as he felt warmth wash over him, looking over to Zevran fondly.  
Zevran had picked up his dagger from where it fell, and had managed to get to his feet. He cast his eyes down at Mallin, spent and satisfied, and raised the dagger.  
A flash of fear trapped his breath, and he saw Zevran smile wickedly, knowing exactly how he must look, dagger in hand. That, he knew, was his revenge for Mallin trying to poison him.  
The assassin reached up, behind his head and used his dagger to cut the cord of his braids, something small, and shiny falling to the ground and plinking softly against the wooden boards. Zevran stooped to retrieve it and held it out to Mallin, noting how the grey warden was still trying desperately not to look too terrified, though his eyes had softened as he saw the assassin was not about to hurt him.  
"That is where I hid the earring. I want you to have it... Partly as thanks for all you have done for me, tonight included... and partly as a reminder of who the better rogue is."  
Mallin rolled the earring in his hand, almost certain there was a story behind the trinket, and gave Zevran a slow smile.

"We shall see about that." he said softly, "We shall see..."


End file.
